


Interpreted in Opposing Ways

by crieshavoc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, bit of blood, just so you know, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crieshavoc/pseuds/crieshavoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Let's say that, after the events of season 2, Marion convinces Sarah to look after Rachel by citing similarities between her and Helena.) Sarah and Felix go by Rachel's apartment, as asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interpreted in Opposing Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a prompt from a buddy of mine.

                “Can I borrow this?” Felix asks, leaning backward to be seen from his spot in Rachel’s closet.

                Rachel grinds her teeth, turning away from Sarah’s smug face long enough to shout, “No!” She immediately turns back, hell bent on giving the punk a piece of her mind, but Sarah has already moved on, exploring the flat as if she hadn’t _been here before_.

                “What’s this?” Sarah asks, pointing to a plaque on the wall.

                “Nothing!” Rachel wants to run her hand through her hair in frustration, but manages not to. Barely. _Stop touching my things!_ She wants to scream, but she doubts Sarah or Felix would listen. “What are you _doing_ here?” _And why won’t you leave?_

                Sarah rolls her eyes and resumes her inspection of the diplomas and awards on the wall. “Told you that already, posh. Marion asked us to check on you.”

                Rachel wants to stomp her foot like a child. _This is absurd_. “I’m fine. Thank you for your _concern_. _You can go now_.”

                “Nah,” Sarah casually waves a hand, dismissing her.

                Felix struts out wearing one of Rachel’s coats. One of her _extremely expensive_ coats. “Can I borrow this one? Looks like you never wear it.” He pulls at the lapels, tugging the collar up to his cheek and posing dramatically.

                Sarah laughs, smiling openly, still strolling around the room as if she _owns_ it.

                “ _Please_ put that back, Felix,” Rachel grits out, furiously trying to keep her cool. _If these two cretins don’t vacate the premises soon_ …. Well, she hasn’t exactly been held accountable for her actions thus far, unless you count the pencil. Rachel’s hand starts to drift up to her face, but she makes a fist instead and glares at the man still wearing her coat.

                “Do you even wear it?” He asks, as if they’re friends. As if they are _familiar_. As if they are _familial_ , which is _just not true_. It can’t be true.

                “That is irrelevant,” Rachel tells him, both hands clenched at her sides now. “It is mine and _not_ yours and I would _very much_ like for you to _put it back_ now.”

                “Well shit, don’t get your knickers in a bunch, _posh_ ,” Felix sneers, shrugging off the coat and returning it to Rachel’s closet.

                “Yeah, we’re not the enemy, Rach,” Sarah pokes her shoulder. Sarah is standing just behind her.

                _Since when?_ Rachel hadn’t noticed. She’s been distracted. She’s been _so_ distracted. Rachel doesn’t reply to Sarah’s words. She has no idea what to say.

                “You got Netflix, posh?” Sarah asks, leaning with her hands clasped behind her back, smiling gently, “we could watch a movie, you know, hang out?”

                Rachel stares at her, bewildered. “Hang out?” She repeated, disbelief dripping from every letter.

                Infuriatingly, Sarah just nods, “Yeah, hang out.”

                For a moment, all Rachel can do is flick her good eye back and forth, Sarah to Felix, Felix to Sarah. For a moment, Rachel _considers_ it. Rachel considers _hanging out_ with them, but it’s too mind numbingly _insane_.

                There is a part of her that wants to say yes. Of course there is. All _she’s_ ever wanted was her family back. And, in a way – _no_. _No._

                “Get out,” she says, thinking _please stay_. “Leave,” Rachel shouts, livid, but with whom? With Sarah and her crooked smile? Felix and his effervescent goodwill? Herself? “Now!” Rachel yells, the muscles in her neck straining, and her _eye_ _aches_.

                Grumbling, hands up to hold away her temper, muttering curses, they both head for the door. Felix looks disgusted with her. Sarah looks disappointed. _Disappointed_ , as if she has that right.

                “We’re _not_ the enemy, Rachel,” Sarah says again, thrown carelessly over her shoulder, as if this _visit_ has been a kindness. She puts her hand on Felix’s shoulder, speaking so softly Rachel cannot hear the words from across the room.

                Felix’s face contorts, as if he’s asking _Are you sure?_ without speaking a word.

                Rachel watches, arms trembling from the effort of keeping her lowered hands in fists, nails biting into her palms, instead of needlessly adjusting her eye patch with _them_ still there to see her ( _weakness_ ). She watches as Sarah nods reassuringly and gently pushes Felix out the door and closes it behind him.

                Sarah turns back to her, and the _tramp_ ’s face is hard, stern, entirely closed off. And then, for reasons Rachel _cannot comprehend_ , Sarah’s face softens.

                _Why?_ _Why are you here?_ Rachel wants to scream. _Why do you care?_

                “We’re trying to give you a _chance_ , Rachel,” Sarah tells her, walking closer to where Rachel is shaking with too many emotions to name. “A _real_ one, don’t you get that?”

                _Don’t you understand?_ Rachel wants to cry, to cry out. _I don’t deserve you._ Her father’s dying words twist like knives, like pencils, up into her mind. She wants to attribute it to _brain damage_ , and maybe it is, but then again, maybe it’s _not_.

                “Just go, Sarah,” Rachel’s lips move without her consent. “This is a waste of time.” _I’m a waste of your time_. _You don’t need me and I can’t have you_.

                But Sarah is shaking her head, hands up again, as if she’s trying to calm a wild animal and not a person. Maybe she is.

                Maybe all that is left of Rachel when you remove the _lies_ is a _creature_. A creature of DYAD.

                “Rachel,” Sarah keeps trying, stupidly, _blindly_ , and Rachel reacts.

                She reacts to Sarah’s persistence, Sarah’s _closeness_ , Sarah’s _familiarity_. It’s as if Sarah thinks she _knows_ Rachel when Rachel no longer knows herself. And _that_ , that is just _unfair_. Rachel lets loose a scream that is similar in tone to _You Can’t Leave Me Again_ , but is wordless. Rachel lets loose her fury on the one who _got away_. Her fists bash and her nails dig into different flesh that is still, incredibly, _the same_ , and Rachel wishes she could still believe what she’s feeling is _satisfaction_ instead of just _more grief_.

                “Hey!” Sarah’s hands find her wrists and they struggle wildly. “Quit it, Rachel!” Sarah yells over her wordless pleas for _revenge_ and _mercy_ and _justice_ and _forgiveness_ all bleeding together. Sarah’s arm is bleeding and so is Rachel’s lip. Sarah is stronger than her, in _every_ way, so it doesn’t take long before they wrestle to the floor again. At least there’s no gun this time.

                Sarah pins her down and Rachel tries, she _tries_ , to keep struggling, but _what is she even fighting anymore_? Sarah is breathing hard, glaring at her with fear in her eyes, but it’s the strangest thing.

                Looking up at Sarah’s two eyes, mirrors of the _one_ Rachel has left, Rachel sees fear, yes, but not the kind of fear that heralds _submission_ and _order_ and _power_ and all the other things that never really meant _safety_ , but Rachel used to be able to pretend they did. Rachel looks up at Sarah, feeling the punk’s harsh breaths on her face, exhaling into the same stubborn air, because if nothing else they have _stubbornness_ in common (and that’s just the beginning of the list, even if Rachel doesn’t want to accept this fact quite yet), she sees fear _for her_ and for _what’s become of her_ and what _will_ become of her. Rachel has _absolutely no idea what to do_. So she stays still, until she can’t.

                “Will you fucking _listen to me now_?” Sarah shouts, unnecessarily.

                Rachel is the very definition, re-definition, of a _captive_ audience, now. She realizes, when Sarah fails to say anything else, that the woman whose body is holding hers to the floor, connecting with hers in so many ways, is waiting for a response. Rachel forces herself to nod, forces herself to look Sarah in the eye, with her eye, _the one she has left_.

                “Good,” Sarah all but spits the word at her, relaxing her grip on Rachel’s arms, but not letting go entirely. No, Sarah’s too smart for that. Sarah leans back on Rachel’s legs. Sarah has _outsmarted_ and _outwilled_ and _outmatched_ her. Again. “We’re going to come back in a few days. Check on you again. Maybe _next time_ we’ll watch that movie, yeah?” Sarah is smiling and resting her weight on Rachel’s thighs, hands lightly holding her wrists.

                Rachel understands that Sarah is waiting again, so she nods her head once more. When Sarah doesn’t immediately get up, get _off of her_ , Rachel lets her gaze wander beyond those _familiar_ ( _familial_ ) eyes to strong arms, to a toned stomach hidden under a t-shirt that probably came second-hand, to mused hair that frames Sarah’s face _so beautifully_. And Rachel thinks, not at all for the first time, that this is all _so unfair_.

                They are both still, until they are not. Until Sarah releases one of her wrists and brings her hand to Rachel's face.

                Rachel reacts, _overreacts_ , but Sarah isn’t afraid _of_ her anymore.

                “Your lip,” Sarah says, leaning away, pressing back against Rachel’s thighs as her free hand grabs Rachel’s hair to hold her head still.

                Rachel remembers growling, like a beast, but maybe she whimpered instead. Maybe the same sound can be interpreted in opposing ways, if she tries hard enough. _No one_ could ever rightfully say Rachel Duncan has ever _not_ tried hard enough.

                Slowly, Sarah lets go of her other arm, keeps her eyes locked on Rachel’s eye, and uses her thumb to wipe blood away from her lip. Sarah looks at her bloody thumb, heaves a sigh that Rachel can _feel_ because Sarah is, still, straddling her on the floor of her living room while Felix, presumably, waits outside in the hall. Looking back at her, Sarah brings her hand to her mouth and sucks the blood away.

                Rachel doesn’t think, not for a moment, that Sarah _meant_ it to be so sensual, but it is. Rachel doesn’t think, not for second, that Sarah wants her like Rachel wants _her_. Rachel doesn’t think, not at all, she just reacts. And, to her complete and utter surprise, Sarah doesn’t push her away when she leans up and presses their mouths together.

                When they break apart, Sarah chuckles, and looks at her with a _kindness_ that would leave Rachel breathless, except she already is.

                “Stupid posh,” Sarah says, licking more blood off her lips, and then she’s standing and walking to the door. “See you in a few days, Rachel,” Sarah throws over her shoulder.

                Rachel catches it like a promise, holds it close to her thumping heart. Rachel stays on the floor of her apartment, curling against her knees and biting her lip, tasting blood and _possibilities_.


End file.
